Sleep
by Ace of Aces 2.0
Summary: Sleeping at Haven was hard.


Sleeping at Haven was hard.

It wasn't that the beds were uncomfortable, or that it was too loud. The solid stone of the chantry blocked out all but the loudest noises, and wandering in the forest since he'd been born meant Cymael wasn't particular about beds.

Sleeping was hard because there were more than two templars running around, and he didn't believe for even a few seconds that this goodwill towards his sister's magic would last for much longer. A mage- an elven one at that- being a Herald of Andraste? The humans would call it blasphemy and sacrilege at some point and feel the need to burn the mages at the stake.

He shifted his position in the snow. Lia was curled up on a bedroll nabbed from stores next to him, around the side of the chantry behind a stack of logs. Technically they had beds to sleep in, but they were in a room with one way in and out. Easy to defend, in one respect, but Cymael was more worried about the templars trapping them in the room.

So for now, they were sleeping outside. Lia slept alright in the snow. She complained about the cold, but some stolen blankets she enchanted to stay warm fixed that. Cymael sat next to her, sword in hand and shield poised to be grabbed out of the snow in a heartbeat.

Cymael slept better in the camps, because there were no templars save Cassandra, although he was still hyper-vigilant to every noise in the camp. Which meant he hadn't gotten a proper sleep in weeks. Lia would stand guard while he slept, but he could never bring himself to get more than four hours, because Lia knew her combat magic and knew it well but templars could dispel her magic. Templars had a harder time dispelling steel.

Cymael heard a noise on the other side of the wooden barrier, and moved quietly into a crouch. He slipped his shield onto his arm and poised his sword to strike.

Varric came around the corner and Cymael moved the point of his sword in front of Varric's face before he realized who it was. "Oh. It's you." Cymael moved back and set his shield in the snow again. "What're you doing here?"

"Andraste's ass, kid, don't you _sleep_?"

"It's Lia's turn to sleep. I'll sleep when she wakes up."

"The bags under your eyes suggest you could be doing a better job about that. You know you two have beds, right?"

Lia shifted and opened an eye. "Cy?"

"Shh, it's alright, _lethallan_. It's just Varric. Go back to sleep." Lia nodded drowsily and quickly dropped back off. Cymael sighed, and turned back to Varric.

"I know we have beds, but there's only one way in and one way out of that room. Easy to defend, yes. Easier to get trapped inside."

"You afraid someone's gonna come for you while you're sleeping?"

"My sister is an elven mage. They're holding her up as a Herald of Andraste. For now. All the templars need is half a stupid reason."

"Don't trust Cassandra or Curly, huh?"

"They believe my sister belongs in a tower, locked away, with no contact with her family or friends. She'd be expected to be content with that lot in life due to something she was born with, that wasn't even her choice, and if she even stepped a toe out of line they'd make her Tranquil, a fate worse than death in some cases. So no. I don't trust them at all. They've given me no reason to. If anything, their comments give me less of a reason."

"Alright, alright. I see your point." Varric ran a hand through his hair. "Is that the reason for the lack of sleep?"

"Sort of. My sister can turn normal soldiers into piles of goo with her storm magic, but templars can dispel magic. She's not good with martial combat. That's my job." Cymael shifted, trying to hide a yawn. "If I fall asleep, and that's when they choose to strike…"

"Yeah. Okay." Varric sighed. "Tell you what, kid. You look awful from the lack of sleep. Do you trust me?"

"More than Cassandra and… What did you call him? Curly?"

"Yeah. What about Chuckles?"

"Chuckles?"

"Solas."

"Oh. I'm not sure. I trust he understands my trepidation, at least."

"Well, he's an apostate surrounded by templars too. He might understand more than you think."

Cymael sighed. "You're probably right."

"Of course I'm right. And when I'm not, I lie about it." Varric patted Cy's knee. "Come on. How about I go get Bianca, and you get comfortable while I'm gone, and I keep watch for a while, okay? We'll even stay out here."

"Are you sure? If it'll be trouble-"

"What'll be trouble is if you get so tired you fall asleep during a fight, and get yourself stabbed or something, and then the rest of us have to get you back, make a mess, get blood everywhere and handle your sure to be distraught sister. What's not trouble is me keeping an eye out while you get forty winks. At _least_ forty winks."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"Alright." Cymael shifted to get more comfortable, pillowing his head on his arms on the ground. Varric walked off and returned a few minutes later, holding his crossbow, some parchment, and ink and a quill. He settled with his back against the wood pile.

"Get some rest, kid."

"Wake me if anything happens, or Cassandra comes over here or-"

"I will. Relax. You trust me, remember?"

"Yeah." Cymael nodded. "I do." Cymael shifted one last time, then drifted off, Varric's humming lulling him to sleep.


End file.
